


A Talon's Wing

by Bionic_Egypt



Series: A Talon's Justice [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Basically how Dick as a talon interacts with the batfam, Canon-Typical Violence, Court of Owls, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Gen, I'll add character tags as they become relevant, Talon!Dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-05-14 14:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14771310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bionic_Egypt/pseuds/Bionic_Egypt
Summary: Nightwing, now operating out of Blüdhaven, must navigate the treacherous waters of crime fighting, being a big brother, and trying not to give into his instinct to kill people instead of detain them. Because Nightwing is still a talon. And he always will be.Sequel to A Talon's Justice





	1. A Talon's Wing

Bruce walked into the Cave, already wearing his workout clothes. It was time for his daily training. Today was sparring practice. Normally, he'd spar against Dick, but Dick had told him he was working on some sort of important project and didn't have the time to practice.

 

A few months ago, he would've told him to meet him on the mats anyway. A few months ago, there had been hope that Dick would one day need to keep up daily training instead of relying on his enhancements. Now, Dick was a full Talon and Bruce still didn't know how to deal with it. So he did what he always did when he didn't know how to deal with something: he avoided it.

 

That was kind of hard, Bruce realized as he walked past the workbench on his way to the mats. Dick was there, hunched over . . . _something_. Bruce couldn't tell what it was. He saw scraps of the same Kevlar-infused material used for the back of Robin's cape, a handful of wires and familiar Bat-tech, and what appeared to be electrified escrima sticks. 

 

Bruce didn't say anything as he made his way to the mats. He could always find out what Dick was working on from Alfred.

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred was no help on solving the mystery. When asked what Dick's project was, Alfred had said "Well, Master Bruce, one would assume that if Master Dick wanted you to know, he would have told you." He had grumbled at that, but did admit that Alfred was right. Dick would tell him what he was working on when he was ready. That didn't stop him from worrying, though.

 

It was a few weeks after seeing Dick working on whatever it was that Bruce finally saw the fruition of the project. Or rather, it was Batman who finally saw it.

 

It was time for patrol, but Robin was nowhere to be seen. It wasn't like him to be late. Batman was just about to go looking for him when a familiar tiny figure stepped into the dim light of the Cave.

 

It was Robin, but in a suit Batman had never seen before. Instead of the red and black ensemble with the black and yellow cape, Robin was wearing a black bodysuit with a neon-blue symbol on his chest that looked like a bird in the shape of a V. A pair of escrima sticks were holstered on his back. The only thing that remained from Robin's uniform was the mask, which did nothing to hide the slightly guilty look on the boy's face.

 

"What is going on?" Batman demanded.

 

The guilty look intensified. "I changed my uniform."

 

"Why?"

 

Robin didn't say anything for a long moment. Batman could tell he wasn't meeting his eyes when he finally responded. "I-I can't be Robin anymore. Not after everything that happened. Not after everything they did to me. I talked to Canary about it, and Superman too because he's basically family and I wanted to check on how he's treating Superboy anyway, and they both agreed. Superman even gave me an idea for a new name: Nightwing."

 

Batman barely even blinked. "No."

 

The guilt on Robin's face was swiftly replaced with confusion. "What do you mean, no? Why not?"

 

Batman didn't say a word, just gave him a version of the Bat-glare specifically used for reprimanding unruly children. Robin stared back unflinchingly, returning the glare with one of his own.

 

"Why not?" he repeated. "Why can't I change?"

 

"You can change," Batman allowed. "You can change back into your uniform and come back here for patrol."

 

"No! I'm not putting my old uniform back on. You can't make me."

 

It was a bluff, and they both knew it. And he was going to call that bluff.

 

"Either go change your uniform, or go back up to the manor," Batman Ordered.

 

Robin snapped to attention, hesitating for only a second before fleeing toward the elevator to the manor. Batman watched him go, heart heavy. Why was Robin acting like this? Why had he designed a new suit, decided on a new name, without asking first? It wasn't like him do act out in this way. Normally, the way Robin acted out was hacking the comms and playing annoying pop music over them while on stakeouts. What had gotten into him?

 

* * *

 

 

When Batman returned from patrol, Alfred was waiting on him. There was a stiffness to the butler's face as he helped bandage the few injuries he'd obtained during patrol (nothing major, just a few scrapes and a bruised rib from a thug's lucky shot). Batman recognized the stiff expression. That was Alfred's you-have-done-something-wrong-and-I-am-upset-with-you face. Batman couldn't think of anything he had done to deserve that face. No doubt Alfred would let him know.

 

"You've terribly upset Master Dick," Alfred finally said, after Bruce had changed back into civilian clothes. "He needs your support, and instead you Order him around and disregard his choices. He feels as though you're keeping him trapped in a role that no longer fits."

 

Bruce frowned. Trapped? That made no sense. Dick was free to go and do whatever he wanted, so long as he talked to Bruce first. That was really the only reason he was mad about the change. Dick hadn't given him any warning, any indication he was going to make such a drastic change. And Nightwing? Clark had a lot of explaining to do the next time Bruce saw him.

 

"Master Dick must be allowed to reinvent himself if he is to be able to move past what happened to him," Alfred continued, pulling Bruce out of his thoughts. "And if reinventing himself means no longer being the Robin to your Batman, then so be it. Let him decide."

 

As Alfred left, Bruce ponded his words. No longer the Robin to his Batman? Did that mean what it sounded like it meant? Because it sounded like Alfred was saying that Dick might need to leave. After everything that had happened, after everything they had gone through bringing him back, Dick couldn't just _leave_.

 

No, he wasn't going to lose his son. He couldn't. Not after everything. And if that meant keeping him from going out on patrol until he got rid of this silly notion to become something different, then that's what was going to happen.

 

* * *

 

 

It had been three weeks since Dick had been in the Cave. Three weeks since he had joined Batman on patrol. Three weeks since he had spoken more than a few words at a time to Bruce.

 

Bruce had no idea why Dick refused to go down to the Cave. He didn't realize that his Order was being followed to the letter. He had gotten so used to Dick finding ways around his Orders, like when he and his friends had left the Hall of Justice and found Superboy so many months ago, that he didn't realize Dick physically could not do that anymore. Things had changed since he got Dick back from the Court. Bruce just didn't know how much.

 

Instead, Bruce thought Dick was just being petty and childish. He thought that Dick was refusing to go to the Cave until he could become someone else, someone who didn't need Batman to be by his side. And he was afraid that he would lose his son if he let him do that. So he didn't.

 

Batman was on patrol alone, as was becoming the new norm, when he saw the Bat Signal shining above Gotham. Perfect. A distraction.

 

"What's the emergency, Commissioner?"

 

Gordon jumped at his sudden appearance, but quickly shook it off. "No emergency this time, Batman. It's just . . ."

 

"Just what?" he prompted when Gordon didn't continue right away.

 

"Where's Robin? No one's seen him for a while. And, well, the last time he left for a while, some pretty bad things happened in Gotham. So, where is he?"

 

Batman remained silent. What was he supposed to say? 'The reason you haven't seen him is because he's mad at me for telling him he can't change his uniform, so I basically grounded him?' No, he couldn't tell Gordon that. That made them sound too normal, too _human_. Batman and Robin weren't supposed to be normal. They were supposed to be better.

 

Gordon paled as the silence continued. "Dear god, the Court can't be back again? So soon?"

 

"What?" Of course he would jump to that conclusion. "No, the Court isn't back. Robin is . . . taking some personal time. Figuring some things out after the last encounter with the Owls. He'll be back soon." He hoped so, anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

Finally, after another conversation with Alfred that revealed perhaps Robin couldn't go into the Cave, not that he didn't want to, Batman Ordered the boy into the Cave to get ready for patrol. And into the Cave he went, wearing that ridiculous costume instead of his uniform.

 

Batman gritted his teeth. "Go put on your uniform."

 

"I'm wearing my uniform," Robin - Batman refused to call him Nightwing - snapped back.

 

"No you're not."

 

"Yes, I am."

 

"This isn't up for discussion, Robin. Go put on your uniform."

 

He truly hadn't expected Robin's next words.

 

"Don't call me that!" the boy seethed. "God, B, don't you get it? I'm not Robin anymore!"

 

When asked later, Batman would be unable to recount exactly what happened next. All he saw was red, all he heard was roaring in his ears. He vaguely registered his own voice - no, Voice, as it had been pointed out to him once, years ago - snapping "Get out! Just - just _go_." He barely recognized the look on Robin's face before it faded into a blank expression as he turned and fled right through the zeta tube.

 

By the time Batman realized what happened, it was too late to stop him.

 

Oh god.

 

What had he done?

 

* * *

 

 

He had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that he had to Leave, had to Get Out, because he had been Ordered to do so. His feet took him on a path they did not reveal to his mind, taking this turn and that turn until he was finally standing in front of a faintly familiar door in a faintly familiar suburb. It wasn't until he knocked on said familiar door in said familiar suburb and a _distinctly_ familiar face opened said door in said suburb that he realized exactly where he was.

 

"Oh!" Mary West said after a moment of silence. "Robin! I didn't recognize you for a second. New costume and all. Come in, come in." She waved him inside and led him to the living room and a worn old couch within. The whole time, she was chattering away, asking if he was there to gather Wally for a mission - no - how things were on the team - fine - was everything okay - he didn't know. That last answer had her a bit on edge, though he didn't blame her. If he was in her place, he would have been extremely worried if the teenage vigilante who showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the night didn't know if everything was fine.

 

After he sat down on the couch, Mary - why did that name hurt to think? - hurried over to the stairs and called for Wally. In a flash of lightning, the redheaded speedster was standing in front of his mother, only to be chastised for using his speed in the house.

 

"Sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forgot."

 

"You're just lucky it's one of your friends from that team of yours," Mary said sternly before her expression morphed into motherly exasperation. "Just remember for next time, okay?"

 

"Sure thing."

 

As Mary went into the kitchen - "I'll find you boys a snack" - Wally walked at brisk pace that was probably as slow as he could make himself move at the moment. When he saw who it was sitting on the couch, he stiffened up.

 

"Rob? Dude, what happened to your suit?"

 

He flinched at the nickname used, not because it had been used against him as _that word_ had been, but because it was a reminder of why he was here.

 

"I, uh, made a new one?" he offered. "I needed a change after . . . after what happened with the Court."

 

Wally nodded. "I get it. But, uh, why are you wearing it here?"

 

"Good question," Mary chimed in as she walked into the living room, two bowls of assorted snacks in her hands. As she set the bowls down on the table, she continued "Wally, be a dear and find some clothes for your friend to wear. No costumes in the house; you know the rules."

 

"Alright. Come on, I think I have something that might fit you. You're insanely short, dude."

 

A few minutes later found him and Wally in the latter's bedroom, rifling through the dresser.

 

"Aha!" Wally cheered triumphantly, withdrawing a few articles of clothing and brandishing them like a prize. "Knew I still had these!"

 

He handed them to him before leaving, giving him some privacy in which to change. It took a bit of ingenuity and a lot of twisting that should have been painful, but he managed to wiggle out of his suit. The clothes Wally had given him were loose, but not too loose. Thankfully, the pants had a drawstring that could be tied tight enough so they wouldn't fall off, but nothing could help the fact the neckline of the shirt was slipping down his shoulder. His boots stayed on, since he had no other shoes.

 

Once he was dressed, he called Wally back in. Wally took one look at him and frowned. "Uh, dude? Your mask is still on."

 

Oh. Right. "Um, do you have any sunglasses I can wear? I don't have my contacts in."

 

"Yeah, uh . . . here!" he said, handing a pair over once he found them.

 

A few seconds later, he had his mask successfully removed and the sunglasses covering his inhuman eyes.

 

"So . . . why are you here, anyway?" Wally asked, munching on the bowl of chips he'd brought in - he must've gone downstairs for the snack his mom had left them. "I mean, it's great seeing you and everything, but you haven't been over to my house - or Uncle B's house - since we started the team. And you've never shown up in uniform before."

 

He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, not that it mattered since it healed almost instantly. "Batman - Bruce . . . he kicked me out."

 

And that's what he'd done, wasn't it? Ordered him to get out, to leave, knowing that he had no choice but to do as he was told.

 

Wally sucked in a sharp breath. "Seriously? Just like that?"

 

He hesitated. "Well . . . not 'just like that.' He got mad that I'm not Robin anymore."

 

"Not Robin? Then what's your ID?"

 

"Nightwing." And didn't that feel good to say? Nightwing Nightwing Nightwing. He was Nightwing. That was his name. A name untouched by the Court, one they could not, _would_ not, be able to take from him.

 

Wally grinned. "That's pretty cool." His grin died. "But uh, do you have a place to stay? Since Batman kicked you out and all?"

 

He shook his head, eyes sliding down to the floor. "Not really."

 

Wally wasted no time in rushing out the door, lightning crackling behind him, rules apparently be damned. He heard his friend yelling for his mom and asking, "Can Dick stay the night?!"

 

He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. At least someone wanted him around.

 

* * *

 

 

And so began the 'year of sleepovers,' as it was to be later known.

 

He stayed with Wally and his parents for roughly a month before things got awkward. At first, things were fairly fine. Mary was very sympathetic once the situation was explained â€“ not the whole he-was-kidnapped-and-tortured-by-deadly-assassins situation, but the his-pseudo-dad-kicked-him-out-because-he-couldn't-accept-him situation. Rudolph, Wally's dad, didn't care that he was there so long as he stuck to the family rules: no powers inside the house, no talking about hero stuff when there were people over, no costumes laying around where anyone could see them.

 

He didn't mind the rules. They were actually a lot like Bruce's. But what he didn't particularly care for was the insistence he wear his contacts (Alfred had sent a care package two days into his exile with a few things he needed, including his makeup and a few changes of clothes. He'd nearly cried when Mary had handed him the box). After the Wests had learned of his . . . peculiar appearance, they had told him in no uncertain terms that he was creepy, and would he please do whatever he needed to do to look normal? A few months ago, it wouldn't have even been an issue, but he had only just started to accept how he looked, not wearing his contacts all the time, and to be forced to hide himself again? It kind of hurt.

 

So no, he didn't stay with them very long. But thankfully, someone else offered to let him stay with them right when he was seriously starting to consider seeing how well he could survive on his own. And that somebody was Barry Allen.

 

He suspected that Wally had mentioned his situation to his uncle, probably hoping he could talk some sense into Batman. What happened instead was Barry showing up at the West's house and asking to talk to him. He moved in with Barry and Iris a few days later, waving his goodbyes and thanks to Mary and Rudolph, giving Wally a friendly hug and a promise to meet up for patrol around Central City.

 

Living in the West-Allen household was . . . actually kind of fun. Don't get him wrong, it was also one of the weirdest things he'd ever done, and that was counting the time he'd had to cross-dress in order to infiltrate a human trafficking ring being run out of the back of a children's department store. Word to the wise, never let Bruce pick out a dress. They had been sweeping glitter out of the Bat Cave for _months_ after the case was wrapped up.

 

It wasn't even fun living with them because Barry was the Flash, though that added something to it. No, it was fun because of how Barry and Iris acted around each other, and by extension him. Barry was energetic and funny, all the tales Batman had told him from various JL meetings proven true. Iris was kind and patient, though never hesitated to let either Barry or him know when a line had been crossed.

 

The Flash even let him tag along on patrol sometimes, instances that ended up being the highlight of his stay. He got to hang out with KF and run across rooftops and take out bad guys. It was almost fun enough to distract him from the fact he wasn't patrolling the streets of Gotham. It was fine that Central City didn't have as much crime; in fact, it was preferable.

 

But everything kind of went downhill when he met Captain Cold.

 

When the blast from the cold gun the villain was known for almost hit him in the chest, he froze - not literally, but it might as well have been. He vaguely heard the Flash yelling at the rogue, something about "He's not a speedster!" and "You could have killed him!" He didn't really register anything else after that. When he came to, he found himself back in the West-Allen household, said adults staring at him with open concern.

 

That would be the first of many 'cold days,' as he dubbed them later on, days where he just shut down, from memories best left forgotten or exposure to things that brought those memories racing to the forefront of his mind.

 

It would take three more of those days, over as many weeks no less, before Barry suggested he spend some time away from Central City. Dinah had even offered to take him in, both because she wanted to and because she was the best qualified to help him get through these 'cold days.' He didn't put up much of a fight, though he had been kind of tempted to. He liked living with Barry and Iris, but he could see that they had no idea what to do to help him.

 

Living with Dinah was . . . odd. He was literally living with his therapist and his trainer, which in and of itself was strange. But then she kept trying to act _normal_ around him, like everything about the situation was _fine_ and nothing was weird about it _at all_. She took him out for ice cream the day after he moved in. _Ice cream_.

 

Occasionally, Oliver would drop by, saying ridiculous things like "Oh, I was just in the neighborhood," even though it was obvious he hadn't been. After the second or third visit, he made sure he 'had plans' whenever Oliver came over. Black Canary/Green Arrow date night was _not_ something he wanted to overhear, thanks.

 

There was even one memorable visit from Roy, which in hindsight was actually kind of hilarious. He had been the one to open the door when the bell rang, fully expecting it to be the pizza Dinah had ordered for dinner (apparently Black Canary could do many things, but cooking was not among them). When he saw Roy instead of the pizza guy, he kind of just blinked and closed the door, right in Roy's face.

 

Roy had not been amused.

 

Dinah had been.

 

Dinah was also insanely great at helping him get through his cold days. Three times a week, he went with her to her office - something about having a clear separation between home and therapy, he hadn't really been listening - and they worked on his issues. They tried all sorts of different therapy techniques, even though he was completely comfortable with just talking. The one and only time Dinah suggested exposing him to sub-freezing temperatures was probably the worst session he had ever gone to.

 

All in all, staying with Dinah wasn't too bad. He spent twice as long with her than he had with Barry and Iris. But something just didn't feel right. So when the option to move in with someone else came up, he took it. Two days after the offer was first made, he found himself moving in with Clark and Lois.

 

Full disclosure, he had kind of forgotten that Clark had a 'real job.' Intellectually, he knew that Clark worked as a reporter for the Daily Planet. He just hadn't quite made the connection that it meant he would be gone so often. Cut him some slack; Bruce technically had a 'real job,' but he only spent maybe five hours a week at the office. But Clark was just a reporter, not a CEO. Of course they would have different hours.

 

The few hours a day Clark was at the apartment, when he didn't have to go rushing off to save the day in the red and blue, he spent alternating between mentioning how sorry Bruce seemed that he had 'inadvertently kicked him out' and blaming himself because obviously it was Clark's fault for giving him the idea for Nightwing. He had barely been able to refrain from rolling his eyes, but it was a close call.

 

He had been almost thrilled when Artemis offered up the spare bed in her and her mom's apartment. Clark was great as an uncle, not so much as a caretaker. So after not even a month, he once again packed up his things and moved.

 

The week spent with Artemis and her mom was never talked about.

 

It was after that week that he finally remembered the room he had at Mount Justice. He was so stupid for not thinking of it earlier! Artemis even helped him move into the base, probably as an apology for what had happened - not that they were talking about it, because it was never going to be talked about ever.

 

Living at Mount Justice was almost . . . freeing, in a way none of the other places he'd lived in the last half a year had been. No one cared if he walked around with or without his differences covered, in his new uniform or in civvies. The newer members of the team called him Nightwing instead of Robin. No one treated him like anything other than just another teenage hero.

 

But he wasn't really a hero anymore. In fact, he wasn't heroing at all during that time. Batman was still the JL member in charge of the team and he never gave him a part in any mission, not even the ones where his stealth specialties would have made the mission so much easier. Black Canary said it was because Batman's way of dealing with his problems was to ignore them. He secretly thought it was because Batman still refused to work with him, no matter indirectly, until he became Robin again.

 

After a while of not being allowed to be a hero, he got kind of sick of it. So he started looking for places that needed a hero, that would benefit from someone with his training. Lo and behold, there was a city riddled with crime that desperately needed someone to help clean it up. The police were almost all dirty, the crime rate was almost worse than Gotham's.

 

His decision was made. He was going to move to Blüdhaven.

 

It took a while, but he finally found an apartment and a day job. He had never imagined himself working as a busboy at a café, but it was the only place that was willing to hire someone who barely looked like they were fourteen (even though he was actually almost sixteen) and pay him enough to afford he apartment he found. With all of that settled, all he had left was to move.

 

The team threw him a goodbye party, one that lasted well into the night. He made promises to keep in touch, that if they ever needed his help he was only a phone call and a zeta-beam away. He promised to invite them all over once he was settled into his new apartment (maybe not at the same time, since it was barely big enough for one person, let alone over a dozen) for lunch or dinner or even just to hang out.

 

The original members of the team offered to help him move all of his things to his new place, an offer that was much appreciated. He had amassed a large collection of things somewhere over the last two years, from 'welcome to your new home' gifts when he was house-hopping, to birthday and holiday gifts, to 'hey, saw this and thought you'd like it' gifts. But he still had the box Alfred had sent him, still filled with his favorite things from the manor. His plush elephant from back during his time with the circus, something Bruce had gone and found after he had started remembering the first time, a book or two that he had read, even though reading wasn't exactly his thing, a framed picture of the team back when they had just started, and a bright green sweater that was still just a bit too large.

 

He packed that one gently into the box, a bittersweet smile on his face. It still kind of hurt to look at, it was so bright, but it had been the first thing Bruce had given him. Had it really been five years? Sometimes, it barely felt like any time had passed. Other times, it almost seemed like a lifetime ago.

 

As he lugged the final box toward the bioship - M'gann had offered, and who was he to say no? - he heard the familiar sounds of the zeta-tube activating. Figuring it was someone on the team showing up for training, he ignored it. He ignored it right up until a familiar voice spoke from behind him.

 

"Dick," Batman's voice - not Voice, but voice - said with a strange softness that should never have come from under the cowl.

 

He turned around slowly, fingers digging into the cardboard box he was carrying. Batman looked . . . worn. Softened, but still tough. Like an old leather jacket. He stared at him in silence for what seemed like forever.

 

"You're moving?" Batman eventually asked.

 

He nodded. "Yeah. Found a place in Blüdhaven. Figured they could use a vigilante over there."

 

Batman inclined his head. "Blüdhaven is only an hour or so away from Gotham."

 

"Is it?" he feigned ignorance. "Hadn't realized."

 

Batman sighed, and he could tell the man glanced around before pushing the cowl back so he could look him in the eye.

 

"I-I made a mistake," he said, voice still like worn leather. "I never should have made you leave."

 

He shrugged. "Can't change the past, B."

 

"No, but I can make attempts to improve the future. I know you're starting a new life in Blüdhaven, but if you want, you can return home whenever you want." There was a familiar edge to his voice, like the gentle Orders he used to give when he didn't want to Order him but knew it was necessary.

 

He felt his spine straighten a little, old habits forcing him to near attention. Shaking his head, he gave Bruce a sad half-smile.

 

"Thanks, but it's not my home anymore," he said. "It hasn't been for a long time."

 

He turned to leave, though paused just long enough to say one last thing.

 

"Tell Alfred I miss him, will you?"

 

Bruce nodded, knowing full well he hadn't meant Alfred. Well, not entirely. "I will."

 

He smiled, a little less sad this time.

 

And with that, Nightwing walked off to the bioship, and the next chapter of his life.


	2. A Talon's Family, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightwing has, under duress, returned to the Manor to try and fix things with Bruce. However, what will he do when confronted with a smart-mouthed boy dressed in the red, yellow, and black he left behind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m gonna be upfront about this: I hate the whole miscommunication thing with Jason and Dick in the comics. You know, where Dick is pissed at Bruce and takes it out on Jason and Jason has no idea it’s really Bruce everyone’s mad at so he’s pissed at Dick too? Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. I mean, Nightwing is still going to not like Jason at first, but Jason is going to know from the beginning what he’s really mad about. That’s not to say that Jason won’t also be pissed at Nightwing, but it’ll mainly be because he’s pissed that Nightwing is taking his anger out on him. With that out of the way, please enjoy A Talon’s Family, Part 1.

Nightwing was _pissed_.

 

He was beyond pissed, actually. He was very nearly murderous. Here he was, visiting his old mentor, returning to his old home in hopes of the reconciliation he had been promised, and what should he find upon entering the Batcave but a child dressed as Robin.

 

Nightwing felt all expression slip off his face as his body sank into a defensive position. _Intruder!_ his mind screamed. His escrima sticks found their way into his grasp, electricity crackling along their length. The boy in front of him, who just noticed his arrival, blanched at the sight. Nightwing understood why; the intruder hadn't expected anyone to find him, had he?

 

"BATMAN!" the intruder shouted, never taking his eyes off Nightwing. "SOMEONE GOT INTO THE CAVE!"

 

Nightwing felt a small frown tug at his lips. That wasn't the reaction he had been expecting. He barely had time to think about it, however, because the intruder flung himself at him right after. It was a quick fight, all things considered. Though it was obvious the intruder had had some sort of training, it was nothing compared to Nightwing's. The scrappy little intruder lasted a surprising fifteen seconds before ending up with him flat on his back, staring up at Nightwing's masked face with an escrima stick against his throat.

 

"Who are you?" Nightwing growled lowly, pressing harder against the intruder's throat.

 

The intruder didn't get a chance to answer, as a familiar Voice called out "Nightwing! Release him!"

 

The unexpected Order caused the masked vigilante to leap up, snapping into a ramrod-straight stance, staring ahead with a blank face. The intruder whispered something that sounded like a curse as he scrambled away, though the tone was a mix of fear and awe. Nightwing just stood there as Batman made his way over and did something completely unexpected: put his hand on the intruder's shoulder and helped him to his feet.

 

"Are you alright?" he asked.

 

"Yeah B," the intruder said. "But what's up with this guy?"

 

Batman spared a glance to Nightwing. "He's . . . not comfortable with new people, Robin."

 

Robin? This intruder was _Robin?!_ Nightwing jerked himself out of his standstill, teeth bared at the bat-themed hero before him. " _What. Is. Going. On?!"_

 

Batman gave him a steely stare. "Nightwing, I want you to meet the new Robin. Robin, this is Nightwing."

 

Robin? _Robin?!_ This child, this intruder, imposter, had taken his name? Taken the name he remembered claiming from pieced-together memories of his childhood? He ground his teeth together, eyes narrowing into slits behind the lenses of his mask.

 

"Nightwing, calm down." Batman's Order broke through the haze of anger that had fallen over him.

 

For the second time that day, Nightwing's body obeyed his Grandmaster's Order. He found himself hating the feeling. Two Orders in as many minutes was a shock to his system after two years of nothing.

 

"Batman?" the intruder - not Robin, never Robin - said in a small voice. "What's going on?"

 

Batman took a silent-yet-deep breath. "I was not expecting you two to meet so soon. I wanted Robin trained a bit more before this confrontation."

 

Alright, that was it. Nightwing met Batman's steely gaze (not that he could see it behind the cowl, but he still knew what he was doing) and forced himself to disobey the Order, pain and panic be damned.

 

"You had no right! You gave away my name. Was I that replaceable? Why did you even ask me to come back if you obviously don't need me?"

 

Batman actually looked a bit confused. "You took on a new name, remember? That's why you left."

 

"Why I left?! You kicked me out!"

 

There was a sound, almost like a questioning whine, coming from the general direction of the imposter that had stolen his name, but it was ignored. Instead, Nightwing stared at Batman, almost daring him to try to defend himself. He did not disappoint.

 

"That was nothing more than a misunderstanding-"

 

"Misunderstanding?" he echoed incredulously. "A week ago it was a mistake."

 

Nightwing shook his head, closing his eyes in an effort to compose himself. "You know what? I'm done. I'm going home. I knew I should never have believed you actually wanted me back."

 

He vanished through the zeta-tube before anything else could be said.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Nightwing nearly two months to return to the manor, and that was only after Alfred had called nearly ten times asking him to visit for dinner. In the end, he only returned because Alfred's last call - sent straight to voicemail because Nightwing just could not have the same conversation again - mentioned how much he missed him and _if it concerns you that much, Master Dick, I can assure you Master Bruce will not be in attendance_.

 

If Alfred was willing to make sure he didn't have to see Bruce just yet, he must've really missed him. So Nightwing called him back, spouted off some bull about how he'd been at work and couldn't take calls until his break - Alfred had tutted like he'd known he'd been lying, but how could he unless Alfred actually _was_ magic - and set a day and time for him to visit.

 

Truth be told, Nightwing had kind of forgotten about the imposter child - well, not forgot, just kind of chose not to remember - until he rang the doorbell (he would not go back into the Cave, so taking the zeta-tube was out) and a boy who couldn't have been any older than twelve opened the door instead of Alfred.

 

"You're Dick, right?" the kid asked, a scowl on his face. "Thought you were older."

 

Nightwing felt a matching scowl start to form on his own face. "I am older. Older than you, at least."

 

"Coulda fooled me. C'mon, Alfie's waiting."

 

The boy turned on his heel and started walking down the hall, not even looking back to make sure Nightwing was following him. Which he was, if only because he had promised Alfred he would stay until dinner was over. When they made it to the dining room, Alfred was in fact waiting on them. The second he saw Nightwing, he actually smiled. Seeing Alfred actually smile instead of that tiny little grin he usually used was a rare sight. Even rarer was the hug he willingly gave Nightwing.

 

"Forgive me," Alfred said as he quickly released him, taking a step back. "I'm afraid I don't know what got into me."

 

Nightwing laughed, smiling wide. "Hey, I get it. Must've been hard dealing with all the doom and gloom and bat-craziness without someone to lighten the mood around here."

 

There was the I'm-smiling-but-not grin Nightwing was more familiar with seeing on the butler's face. "Indeed it was, Master Dick."

 

It was halfway through dinner, during which Alfred actually sat down and ate with them (he must've really missed Nightwing if he was breaking all of his silly propriety rules to sit with them), that the kid said anything else.

 

"So, you were Robin?" he asked.

 

"Yeah."

 

"Did Bruce really kick you out?"

 

There was a clatter from Alfred's spot at the table, but Nightwing didn't really pay attention. Had no one told this kid what happened? Not even Alfred?

 

"Yeah, he did," he eventually said, still staring the kid down.

 

"Why?"

 

Nightwing sighed. "That's a really long story. Can it wait until after dinner?"

 

The kid looked a bit disgruntled at the suggestion, but eventually agreed, if only because Alfred chimed in and said it would be for the best. Before their meal was over, Nightwing learned a few things, like the kid's name was Jason, that he had recently been adopted by Bruce, and that he was actually allowed in the kitchen with Alfred. Nightwing had honestly been a little impressed by that. Alfred had permanently banned Nightwing from the kitchen after a memorable incident that resulted in the oven catching on fire and cake batter on the ceiling. Not that his admiration over the kid's - Jason's - cooking skills made up for the fact he stole his name.

 

After dinner, Alfred sent Nightwing and Jason to the sitting room with the most comfortable couch and chairs so they could talk. They sat as far away from each other as they possibly could while still being in the same room - hey, Alfred never said they had to be all buddy-buddy during their conversation.

 

"So, you want to know why Bruce kicked me out?" Nightwing asked.

 

Jason crossed his arms. "Yeah. Because Bruce never said he kicked you out. The way he told it, you left."

 

Nightwing resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. Two years was more than enough time for the almighty Bruce to convince himself it wasn't his fault.

 

"I left because I didn't have a choice. Look, kid-"

 

"Jason."

 

"Fine, Jason. Whatever. Bruce is going to be an asshole, alright? He's going to do things behind your back because he thinks that's the best way to 'help,' he's going to lie to you, and he's going to mess up. If you're going to stay here, you'd better learn to accept that."

 

Jason snorted. "Yeah, kind of already figured that out. But thanks for the totally useless advice."

 

Nightwing gritted his teeth. This kid was seriously getting on his nerves. But Alfred wanted them to get along, so he would try. For Alfred. No one else.

 

"Where're you from?" he asked.

 

Jason looked slightly taken aback. "What?"

 

"Where. Are. You. From?" Nightwing repeated slowly. "As in, where were you before here?"

 

Jason glowered at him. "Right. Like you don't know."

 

"I didn't even know your _name_ before dinner. Why would I know anything about you or your past?"

 

Jason huffed. "Whatever. I grew up in Crime Alley. I was on the streets for the last two years before Batman caught me jacking the tires on the Batmobile. Then one kidnapping later, I'm living here."

 

Nightwing raised an eyebrow. "Huh."

 

"What?" Jason snapped.

 

Nightwing shook his head. "Nothing. Just - Bruce really can't help himself, huh? Taking in kids who try to hurt him."

 

"Wait, what?"

 

Nightwing shrugged. "It's not important."

 

He glanced over at the clock and blinked, realizing just how late it was. Crap. He had to get back to Blüdhaven. If he didn't patrol every night for at least his first few months, no one was going to take him seriously as a crime-fighting vigilante. Not that they really knew about him yet. He'd only been active as Nightwing for two months; most people believed he was just a rumor.

 

"Hey, Jason, this's been . . . well, I was going to say fun, but it's really just been awkward and weird-"

 

"Please, don't hold anything back," Jason deadpanned.

 

"-but I've got to head back to 'haven. I have patrol soon."

 

Jason rolled his eyes. "If you want to leave so bad, you don't need to make up an excuse."

 

"It's not - you know what, never mind. I've got to go."

 

Nightwing quickly made his escape, detouring only once to find Alfred and say bye.

 

Dinner had been really weird. Hopefully he wouldn't have to do that again.

 

* * *

 

 

He had to do it again.

 

Every time Bruce was off-world, whether it was a JL meeting or a crisis on another planet, Alfred invited Nightwing over for dinner. And every time he was invited, he returned, if only to avoid disappointing Alfred. It had been almost two months since that first dinner, and things had not gotten better. Things with Jason were still awkward. After that initial conversation, neither of them brought up pasts or Robin or anything remotely unpleasant. It was best for both of them, really. Not that Alfred saw it that way.

 

"You really should talk with Master Jason about more than school work," he chastised as Nightwing was set to leave again.

 

"What do I even say?" he asked. "I'm not talking about Bruce or Robin with him, and he doesn't seem to want to talk about anything else."

 

"You could try staying later, perhaps show him the ropes; your gymnastic equipment is still set up in the Cave."

 

"No way. I'm not going back down there. I'm sorry Alfred, but I just can't."

 

Alfred inclined his head. "Very well, Master Dick. Just keep in mind, Master Jason might not show it, but he does look up to you. I'll see you next week?"

 

"Wouldn't miss it."

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred was the sneakiest, most conniving, _manipulative_ person Nightwing had ever met. The next time Nightwing showed up to the manor, he was immediately led to a huge room he'd never actually been in. Inside was the exact same equipment Bruce had set up in the Cave after Nightwing had used the acrobatics the Court had actually encouraged during patrol one night. Apparently Batman thought he could still use the techniques, just adapt them to be a little less deadly.

 

Jason was sitting in the room, wearing a set of workout clothes and a sour expression. When he caught sight of Nightwing, his expression deepened.

 

"Finally. You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago."

 

Nightwing frowned. "Sorry to disappoint?"

 

"Yeah yeah. Come on, Alfred said you were going to teach me stuff Bruce can't do."

 

His frown deepened. Alfred was _mean_. Mean mean _mean_. He wanted Nightwing to teach Jason something that Nightwing didn't really want to teach anyone, let alone the person who was using his name. He didn't want to help someone take his place.

 

But because it was Alfred's idea, he kind of had to do it. No one said no to Alfred. So Nightwing excused himself to change - noting that Alfred had already laid out some workout clothes that Nightwing had left when Bruce kicked him out - and prepared himself to teach Jason some of what he knew.

 

Back in the new gym, Nightwing found Jason bouncing on his heels, staring up at some of the more advanced equipment with a twinkle in his eyes. Nightwing felt his lips tug up in a smile despite himself. He remembered that feeling, wanting to fly. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad? Maybe Nightwing could learn to let go of his anger, just a little bit. It wasn't really Jason's fault, if he was being honest. It was Bruce's. Bruce was the one Nightwing should be (and was) mad at. Maybe he could forgive Jason.

 

"Okay, first thing's first: stretching," he said, smiling when Jason jumped.

 

"What? Why?" Jason protested once he recovered form his fright, mouth turned down in a pout.

 

"Unless you want to pull something, you're going to stretch. Come on, I'll show you."

 

Nightwing immediately fell into his old routine, stretching every muscle in his body, making sure to demonstrate and explain in detail everything he was doing so Jason could follow along. After closely watching the strain on Jason's face as he followed along, Nightwing couldn't help but think they might just stop with stretching for today. There was always next time.

 

* * *

 

 

"Are you sure about this?" Jason's voice wavered just barely as he turned his head back to look at Nightwing. "I mean, I'm completely fine with it, but are _you_ sure?"

 

Nightwing just laughed. "You'll be fine. Look, there's even a net. Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise."

 

Jason still looked a little unsure, but he grasped the bar regardless. He took a deep breath, glanced back one final time, and jumped. Nightwing cheered as he watched him fly through the air on the trapeze, not all that gracefully, but flying nonetheless.

 

"Woo! Go Little Wing!" he yelled gleefully.

 

When his words caught up with him, he paused. Little Wing? Where had that nickname come from? But the more he thought about it, the more he didn't mind giving it to Jason. It was Robin he refused to share (even if technically Jason _was_ operating under the name). He didn't really mind sharing Nightwing, so long as it was his choice and not done without his knowledge.

 

Maybe Alfred had been right. Spending time with Jason wasn't so bad. He actually kind of liked his little brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I had started this chapter a looooong time ago, back before I had decided on a sequel (originally, ATJ was going to end with three chapters titled A Talon’s Family, Part 1-3 and feature the newly minted Nightwing meeting his bros), but I hadn’t finished it. Good thing too, because when I went to continue working on it, I realized I had to rewrite almost everything I had written.  
> I had originally planned on a different way of him becoming Nightwing, which involved less kicking out and more leaving by choice, but always with the plan on returning once he had earned the public’s respect as a hero in his own right. As you can see, that is not what I ended up going with. More angst this way, I guess (which is part of the reason I had to just step back and take a break over the summer. I am drowning in angst with this story. Don’t get me wrong, I like angst, but for a good three or so months, it was all I was writing and it started getting to me. So I stopped working on this for a bit and wrote some fluff, continued some stupid things I’d been thinking about that were just total self-indulgence, and turned back to this when I knew I could do it justice).  
> Sorry for the long-winded blah-blah-blah here at the end, but I had to get some of that off my chest. Thanks for reading!


	3. A Talon's Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightwing and Jason are working on a few moves when Bruce shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! It's been awhile. So, I'm not dead! I've just been very, very busy with school. But here's a new chapter, and I've already got the next one almost done, so hopefully it'll be up next week. So sorry for the wait, but please enjoy A Talon's Burden.

“C’mon, you promised you’d show me how to do that flip today!” Jason said, dragging Nightwing down the hall by his arm the instant he walked through the front door.

 

Nightwing laughed. “Okay, okay, don’t pull my arm off.”

 

“I’ll pull it off if I want to!”

 

“Then how will I show you that flip, huh?”

 

Jason opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again with a huff. Nightwing grinned, reaching out with the hand that wasn’t being detached from his body to ruffle Jason’s hair. Ever since he’d accepted the fact he now had a little brother, things had gotten much better between him and Jason. They still didn’t talk about Robin, not by name anyway, but Nightwing was teaching Jason a few things that would help him on patrol. In return, Jason told him elaborate and exaggerated stories of how he used said things to take down criminals. It was nice having someone who looked up to him.

 

After they stretched – Jason still complained about having to, but no stretching meant no learning new tricks – Nightwing grabbed the grapplehook that Jason had brought up from the Cave so he could show Jason how to flip over a group of thugs by using the momentum from his last swing. It was actually really fun; hopefully Jason would think so too.

 

“Okay, now pay attention,” he said, standing up on a platform roughly ten feet above the ground. “You want to shoot your grapple at about this angle, okay?” He shot the grapple gun to demonstrate what he was talking about. “Then you swing out a little over halfway before dropping down.”

 

Nightwing leapt from the platform, swinging across the room about halfway before retracting his grapple and flipping once, twice, thrice, four times over Jason’s head. He landed in a crouch, already reaching for weapons that weren’t there. Straightening out of the crouch, he looked at Jason and grinned.

 

“So, think you can do that?” he asked, tossing the grapple gun to his little brother.

 

Jason caught the gun and shrugged. “I guess.”

 

Nightwing smirked. Jason wouldn’t be able to do it. Not completely, at least. The quadruple somersault was something only three people could do, before his parents died. However, Jason should be able to do the rest of the move after a little practice.

 

Jason’s first attempt was . . . well, bad. He let go too early and landed awkwardly, but thankfully it didn’t actually hurt him.

 

“Not bad,” Nightwing said. “Try swinging just a little further next time. And don’t do a flip until you know you can make it to where you need to be.”

 

“But I can do the flips, I know I can.”

 

“Not until you can land the base move.”

 

Jason huffed, but he did try the simpler version of the move. They practiced for the better part of two hours before Alfred finally came to get them for dinner. Dinner was amazing, as always. The only downside was that Alfred refused to sit with them like he had a few months ago, saying how it ‘wasn’t proper’ and he ‘shouldn’t have done it the first time.’ Not that either boy cared about propriety, not when it came to Alfred being treated like family instead of an employee. But it was what it was.

 

Nightwing had honestly been enjoying himself. He loved being an older brother, loved that someone looked up to him despite everything. He especially loved being Jason’s older brother; Jason was an amazing kid. Really, if Bruce had let him get to know Jason beforehand, had asked if he would pass down his name, he probably would have.

 

After dinner, Jason asked if Nightwing could teach him some fighting moves.

 

“B’s a good teacher and all, but he’s a lot bigger than me,” Jason had said by way of explanation. “He can’t teach me how to fight bigger people _and_ be the bigger person in the fight.”

 

To be perfectly honest, Nightwing didn’t want to agree. He didn’t want to fight Jason, even to help him, but he had to admit Jason had a point. They were about the same height, Nightwing only having an inch or two over him. It would be easier for Nightwing to teach him. But he wouldn’t train him. There was a difference between teaching and training, and Nightwing knew if he truly tried training Jason, he would hurt him. Maybe even kill him. That would be unacceptable.

 

So they went back to the gym, pulled out mats that just so happened to be there (Jason had apparently been planning this), and started stretching. By now, Jason didn’t have to be led through the stretches, but Nightwing narrated them all the same. It helped distract him from what he was going to do. Once their stretching was done, both boys stood at opposite ends of the mat. Nightwing fell into a fighting stance.

 

“I’m going to come at you,” he said. “Try to hit me before I hit you.”

 

Jason smirked. “Is that all?”

 

Nightwing’s answering smile was full of sharp teeth.

 

Without any further warning, Nightwing struck. He was a flicker of shadow across the sparring mat, just barely managing to hold himself back enough to pass for normal. Before Jason even had time to blink, he was flat on his back, gaping up at the ceiling.

 

“I win,” Nightwing said smugly, standing over him.

 

“Jerk,” Jason wheezed. Nightwing laughed, reaching down to pull Jason to his feet.

 

“Come on, I’ll go slower this time. All you have to do is hit me first.”

 

They went back to their corners, taking up their stances once again. Just like before, Nightwing struck first and fast. He didn’t knock Jason over this time, but it was a close call. They tried again, and again, and again, until finally Jason went on the offensive, striking at Nightwing as soon as they were both in position. He still had yet to land a hit, but at least he was being proactive.

 

It was right when Nightwing was about to strike him down yet again that it happened.

 

“Stop it!” a Voice shouted across the room. “Move back!”

 

Nightwing’s body reacted before his mind had a chance to comprehend the words. He threw himself away from Jason, body rigid and eyes staring dead ahead. He barely registered Jason’s voice asking what happened.

 

“Dick, you will never hurt Jason. That’s an Order,” the Voice growled at him. Nightwing gave a single sharp nod. Understood.

 

The Voice sighed. “Stand down.”

 

Nightwing felt every muscle in his body relax. He shook his limbs, rolling his shoulders, moving everything he could, just to reaffirm that his body was his own. Not that it ever was, so long as he had a Grandmaster, but it was nice to pretend.

 

He turned to look at Bruce, who had walked through the door and was staring at him with anger and worry in his eyes. Nightwing almost snorted. Bruce was honestly stupid if he thought Nightwing had been a danger to Jason. Even before the Order, he wouldn’t have hurt his little brother.

 

“What are you doing here, Dick?” Bruce asked.

 

Nightwing shrugged. “Alfred invited me for dinner.”

 

“You’re not eating.”

 

“I wanted him to teach me some moves!” Jason interjected, fire burning in his eyes.

 

_No. Don’t fight Bruce for me_ , Nightwing thought pleadingly, wishing for a moment that he had M’gann’s telepathy. _I’m not worth it_.

 

“Is this true?” Bruce asked Nightwing.

 

Nightwing nodded. “Yeah. I already taught him to fly. We were working on how to hit before you get hit.”

 

Jason rolled his eyes. “You were supposed to be teaching me how to take down bigger targets.”

 

“And that was going to happen after you proved you could hit me first,” Nightwing shot back playfully.

 

Bruce cleared his throat, glaring both of them into silence. “Dick, you are not his teacher,” he said in that half-Voice that still meant an Order. Nightwing knew he was using it so Jason wouldn’t know what was going on. “You will not train him. I will.”

 

Nightwing felt the Order settle into his chest, even as his mind raged. No! Why couldn’t he teach Jason, show him how to defend himself? Bruce couldn’t teach him everything! But he had no choice. To disobey meant pain.

 

It took everything in him not to respond “Yes, Grandmaster.” But Jason was standing right there. Jason, who knew nothing about Nightwing’s past. Jason, who thought that Nightwing had become Robin because he wanted to, not because he needed to. Jason, who had no idea Nightwing was a dangerous killer.

 

“I – I need to go,” he said instead. “It’s getting late, and I have an early shift tomorrow.”

 

Bruce frowned, fully aware Nightwing didn’t need sleep, but he said nothing as Nightwing started walking toward the door.

 

“Wait!” Jason cried. “That’s it? Just ‘oh, I won’t train him anymore, bye and fuck off?’”

 

He turned to look at him, something small and sad curling in his gut. “Sorry Jason. I can’t teach you anymore. But I’ll still come over for dinner, alright? I just – I really need to go.”

 

And with that, Nightwing breezed out the door before anyone could stop him.

 

* * *

 

 

Jason stormed out of the Bat Cave later that night. Patrol had been awkward, what with Batman refusing to answer any of his questions about ‘why did you tell Dick he can’t teach me anymore’ and ‘what did you do to him’.  At least Jason got a chance to work out some of his frustrations on some muggers, but even then Batman was all ‘you need to control your aggression.’ Jerk.

 

Jason somehow found himself in the kitchen, where Alfred was making him and Bruce an after-patrol snack. Good old Alfred. Maybe he could answer Jason’s questions.

 

“Hey Alfie.”

 

Alfred looked up from the food, smiling slightly when he saw who it was. “Hello Master Jason. I trust you are well?”

 

“Kinda. I have a question.”

 

Alfred set down what he was working on, some sort of healthy nonsense that would probably sound awful but taste amazing, and gave Jason his full attention. “What would you like to know?”

 

Jason took a deep breath. Now or never. “Earlier today, Bruce yelled at Dick to get away from me while we were training. Why did he do that? And why did Dick freeze up until Bruce told him to stand down?”

 

Jason couldn’t place the emotion he saw in Alfred’s eyes, nor what he heard in his soft sigh. “That, Master Jason, is something you will have to ask Master Dick.”

 

“Come on! Dick won’t talk to me about anything he did during his Robin days,” Jason whined. When it became obvious Alfred wasn’t going to change his mind, Jason started thinking about it.

 

Okay, obviously it was something bad. Real bad, if even Alfred wasn’t willing to talk about it. And it happened during Dick’s time as Robin. Maybe even during his training. Jason blanched as he realized something. Dick had acted like he was _conditioned_ to obey Bruce whether he wanted to or not. That – that was _horrible_.

 

“Alfred?” Jason’s voice was small.

 

“Yes?”

 

He refused to meet the butler’s eyes as he said “Whatever happened to make Dick react like that, whatever makes him listen to Bruce even if he really doesn’t want to, will it happen to me?”

 

Alfred gave a small gasp. “No,” he said quickly. “What happened to Master Dick was a horrible tragedy and will not happen to you.”

 

“But if it was so bad, why’d Bruce do it?” Jason demanded.

 

“What happened to Master Dick happened before he came into Master Bruce’s care,” he explained as calmly as he could. “Master Bruce was in no way responsible for what happened to make him behave in that way. He tried to help him, and I believe he succeeded as well as he could have. Now, I’ll say no more on the subject. The rest of the story should really come from Master Dick himself.”

 

With that, Alfred went back to preparing their food.

 

Later, as Jason left the kitchen, snack in hand, he realized he didn’t know as much as he thought he did about anyone at the manor. There was a secret, a big one. Hopefully he’d learn what it was.


	4. A Talon's Houseguest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightwing gets an unexpected visitor. Cue bonding over awful shows and awful Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I do mention Teen Titans Go. I still can’t believe they made a movie and that that movie was aired in theaters. I really, really do not like the show, so all they do is make fun of it. I regret nothing. Also, there is a lot of dialogue, and this is a fairly short chapter, but considering what’s coming up next, I think the length sorts it just fine. With all that out of the way, please enjoy A Talon’s Houseguest.

Nightwing sighed in relief as he flopped onto his ratty old couch. Don’t get him wrong, he liked his job at the diner. It got him out of the apartment, earned him enough money to pay for said apartment, and his coworkers were fairly cool people who sometimes slipped him cookies or hot chocolate on his break. What he hated was dealing with people who thought they could treat the staff however they wanted.

 

But at least he had the next two days off, time he could spend relaxing and binge-watching that show M’gann had suggested the last time they talked, some sort of parody of the teen superheroes of the world. _Go Titans_ , or something like that. It looked dumb, but M’gann promised it was hilarious.

 

He was just about to start sorting through his weaponry to make sure everything was ready for his patrol later when there was a knock on the door. Who could that be? A quick glimpse through the peephole had Nightwing frowning as he moved to open the door. Jason, an overnight bag slung over his shoulder, pushed his way into the apartment without so much as a ‘hello.’

 

Nightwing just stared.

 

Jason stared back.

 

Nightwing kept on staring.

 

Jason kept on staring back.

 

Finally, Nightwing _had_ to say something. “What are you doing here?”

 

Jason’s scowl was fierce as he ground out “Bruce is being an ass, so Alfred gave me your address. You have a problem, take it up with him.”

 

He had no response for that. Bruce being an ass wasn’t anything new. What _was_ new was Alfred having his address. Maybe Alfred really was magic.

 

He shook off his thoughts, turning his attention back to Jason. “So, how long do you think you’ll be staying?”

 

Jason shrugged. “Until Bruce stops being an ass.”

 

Nightwing couldn’t help but laugh. “If you’re staying that long,” he said, “you’ll have to start paying rent.”

 

Jason’s only response was to glare at him. This was going to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

 

After a dinner of cheap Chinese takeout, Nightwing made sure Jason was alright before suiting up for patrol.

 

“Why can’t I go?” Jason demanded, crossing his arms.

 

“Because you don’t know Blüdhaven like I do,” Nightwing explained. “And you don’t even have your suit.”

 

“We’re almost the same size.”

 

“I only have one suit.”

 

“Liar. There’s no way Alfred only made one.”

 

“Alfred didn’t make my suit.”

 

Jason opened his mouth again, but snapped it shut, apparently having no idea what to say to that. Finally, he huffed and plopped down onto the couch. “Fine. I’ll wait here. But I’m not happy about it.”

 

Nightwing reached out and ruffled his hair, laughing. “I know.”

 

He leapt out the open window as Jason sputtered and started yelling at him.

 

* * *

 

 

After a very successful patrol, in which Nightwing stopped three robberies, two muggings, one murder, and helped an elderly lady cross the street, he made his way back to his apartment. It was around three in the morning, much too early for his patrol to end, but he had Jason to think of. Jason was probably wondering where he was by now. Batman had always tried to end their patrols before two in the morning; surely the same would apply for Jason?

 

When he slipped back in through the window, he paused in his tracks, smiling at the sight. Jason was passed out on the couch, a book open on his chest. Soft snores came from the boy.

 

Nightwing crept over and plucked the book off Jason’s chest, sticking a scrap of paper inside as a bookmark. Once the book was safely set on the table, he carefully lifted Jason off the couch and carried him into the lone bedroom. Best let the person who actually sleeps have the bed.

 

Nightwing tucked the covers around his little brother before silently sneaking out of the room and closing the door behind him. By his count, he had about five hours before Jason would wake up, just enough time for him to get some additional work done. Then . . . he had absolutely no idea what he was going to do.

 

* * *

 

 

Breakfast. Breakfast was a good idea, right? He’d have to go out and get something, though. The only food inside his apartment was a box of nearly empty cereal and something inside a takeout container that he absolutely refused to open. The smell coming from it might not have been noticeable to anyone else, but he nearly gagged. Ugh. Once the box was thrown away, Nightwing grabbed his wallet, wrote a quick note in case Jason woke up, and headed out to find some food.

 

He returned just in time to see Jason stumble out of the bedroom, hair sticking up every which way and pillow marks on his cheek. He laughed. That was one good thing about not needing sleep. He’d never wake up looking like that.

 

“Sleep well, Little Wing?” he asked, setting the paper bag filled with food on the coffee table.

 

“Wuh?”

 

Nightwing chuckled. “Come on, I got breakfast.”

 

Jason lumbered over, pretty much falling onto the couch. “You wen’ out?” he slurred, punctuating his words with a yawn.

 

“I can’t actually cook,” he admitted as he started doling out the food – muffins and donuts and other sweet breakfast things he knew Alfred would never allow in the manor.

 

Jason gave him a look. “You work in a _diner_.”

 

“I’m a _dishwasher_.”

 

Jason scoffed, though Nightwing noticed he reached for the sweetest treat available. Guess he didn’t mind Nightwing’s inability to cook as much as he claimed.

 

It wasn’t until after breakfast that Nightwing decided to repeat the question he’d asked last night.

 

“So, not that I don’t love having you here, but how long are you staying?” he asked. “I mean, don’t you have school today?”

 

Jason stiffened slightly, not meeting Nightwing’s eyes as he said “Like I told you. I’m not going back until Bruce stops being an asshole. And we have a three-day weekend at school, so I don’t have to be in Gotham until Monday.”

 

Nightwing sighed. “What did Bruce do?”

 

“He’s a jerk.”

 

“I get that. But what specifically made you want to leave?”

 

“He’s just awful, okay! He doesn’t believe me!”

 

Nightwing’s brows raised. Now they were getting somewhere. “Doesn’t believe you about what?”

 

Jason’s mouth quickly snapped shut. Nightwing sighed. And that was the end of their progress. Great. If Jason would just stop being so skittish around him! All he wanted to know was what Bruce had done and see if he could help. If anyone knew what Bruce was like when something didn’t go his way, it was Nightwing. But he could see Jason was unwilling to talk about whatever had happened and pressing the issue would only make Jason clam up even more.

 

Really, there was only one option left.

 

“Want to watch a show about superheroes with me?”

 

Jason looked back at Nightwing, features twisted in confusion. “What?”

 

“M’gann suggested it, said it was hilarious. I promised I’d watch it when I got the chance.” Nightwing shrugged. “I was going to watch it today, but if you’d rather do something else . . .”

 

“Sure,” Jason said. “But only if I get to make fun of it.”

 

Nightwing grinned. “I was planning on doing the same.”

 

* * *

 

 

They were about ten episodes in – and Nightwing had been right, the show _really_ was stupid – before Jason approached their previous topic.

 

“Bruce thinks I killed someone,” he said, staring very hard at the TV.

 

Nightwing was taken aback. Jason, kill someone? Sure, he was a bit rough around the edges, but to commit murder? He would have to have a very, very good reason.

 

“I didn’t kill him though, no matter what Bruce thinks,” Jason continued. “I wanted to, sure, but I didn’t. The guy, Felipe Garzonas, he was awful. He raped this girl. Gloria. And she was so scared he’d come back, she – she hung herself so he wouldn’t be able to hurt her again. But we couldn’t send him to jail because he had diplomatic immunity. He was going to go free. So I followed him, tried to scare him. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he hadn’t fallen.”

 

Nightwing’s heart leapt into his throat at the word ‘fallen.’ He vaguely remembered his parents, remembered screams and a rope snapping. But he brushed that away as Jason kept talking.

 

“I didn’t push him; I swear I didn’t! If I’d killed him, it wouldn’t have been like that. I would’ve made him suffer.” Jason’s expression darkened, leaving little doubt that he was joking or exaggerating.

 

Nightwing believed him. Jason hadn’t done anything wrong. Really, Nightwing would have gone after the man same as he did if he’d been in his shoes.

 

“I know you didn’t kill him,” he said, throwing an arm around Jason’s shoulders and pulling him into a hug. A hug that Jason tried in vain to escape, he might add. “I know killers, and you’re not one.”

 

Jason tried once again to shove him off. “How would you know?”

 

Nightwing tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

 

“How do you know what a killer’s like? Because the people we chase?”

 

Oh. Ohhh. _Really Bruce?_ he thought angrily. _You couldn’t give him a head’s up about the shoes he’s filling?_

 

“Well, let’s just say that’s a really long story. One I’ll share when you’re older.”

 

“I’m not that young!” Jason protested. “I’m almost fifteen!”

 

Nightwing shook his head. “Nope. Still too young.”

 

“Don’t talk to me about being too young. Alfred told me you were only eleven when you put on the cape.”

 

_Yeah, but I was nine when I first killed a man_ , he thought but didn’t say. Instead, he shook his head again.

 

“How about this,” he proposed, “I’ll tell you everything after you go back and fix things with Bruce.”

 

Jason glared at him. Nightwing quickly thanked his lucky stars Jason didn’t have heat vision. “That’s not fair!”

 

“Life’s not fair, Little Wing. But hey, you’re going back to Gotham soon for school, right? And I’m leaving in a few days anyway. Apparently the team needs help with some sort of mission off-world – all hands on deck sort of situation – and we’re supposed to leave Wednesday. If you’ve at least talked to Bruce by the time I get back, I’ll tell you the whole disastrous story, heavy on the dis, behind how I ended up with Bruce. Okay?”

 

Jason crossed his arms, grumbling under his breath. “Fine.”

 

Nightwing beamed. “Great! Now come on, let’s finish this stupid show so I can tell M’gann I hated it.”

 

Jason scoffed. “Come on, it is kind of funny. Especially if you know the people they’re talking about.”

 

“But look at how angsty and rage-y they made me!”

 

Jason laughed. “I see no difference.”

 

Nightwing couldn’t help but laugh, even as he tried to glare at him. “You take that back!”

 

“See, there it is!”

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later, Jason was all packed and ready to go back to Gotham. Nightwing had offered to drive him, even if the thought of traveling through Gotham sent shivers down his spine, but Jason turned him down.

 

“I’m just going to take the zeta,” he said instead. “You have work today anyway.”

 

“I’m sure my boss’ll understand.”

 

“Not with you leaving in a few days to go save Saturn or some shit.”

 

Nightwing laughed. “I think we’re going to a different solar system, actually.”

 

“Nobody cares.”

 

He reached out, ruffling Jason’s hair as he pulled him into a tight hug.

 

“Ugh, let me go _Dick!_ ” he protested, trying to shove him away.

 

“That’s Big Wing, to you.”

 

“Never!”

 

“Aw, I’ll wear you down one of these days!” he vowed, a huge grin on his face. Eventually, he let go, nudging Jason toward the camouflaged entrance to the zeta-tube. “Now go on, Alfred’s probably already waiting on you.”

 

“Yeah yeah, I’m going,” he grumbled. “See you later?”

 

Nightwing beamed at him. “Two weeks tops.”

 

“Bye Dick.”

 

“Bye Jay.”

 

As the younger of the two vanished into the yellow light of the zeta-beam, Nightwing hoped Jason would be able to reconcile with Bruce. If he could, maybe there was hope that Nightwing would be able to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, people have been asking me if Nightwing ages differently or not in this AU. He does! I actually made a little reference sheet for myself so I’d be able to tell how he’s supposed to look at any given time and I’ve decided to share it with you guys so you’ll know too. Here it is:  
> (Actual age/Physical age)  
> 8 8  
> 10 10  
> 13 13  
> 14 13  
> 15 14  
> 16 14  
> 17 15  
> 18 15  
> 19 15  
> 20 16  
> 21 16  
> 22 16  
> 23 17  
> 24 17  
> 25 18  
> Basically, after he hits roughly 14 years old, he starts aging at 1/3 the normal speed until he hits 18 physically. Then he just stops aging altogether. This will come up as a major plot point in a chapter I have planned. Speaking of planned plot points . . . you guys will hate me next chapter. This was the last chapter before Shit Goes Down. I think you can figure out what the Shit is if you think about it hard enough. Anyway, thanks for reading!


	5. A Talon's Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You knew it was coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned on this being done before Christmas. I think it's kind of obvious that that didn't happen. Life was kicking me for a bit and the last scene just did not want to work no matter how often I tried to write it. But it's done! Thanks for your patience and please enjoy A Talon's Retribution.

Nightwing slipped around tables and patrons, a dish bin balanced on his hip. It was a busy day in the café, a welcome change to what he had spent the last two weeks doing. Space missions were _exhausting_ , even for people who didn’t sleep. If he hadn’t had his healing factor, he would have been screwed. But the team eventually won and made their way back to Earth just in time for Nightwing to go back to work. Now, three days later, here he was.

 

Nightwing gathered dirty dishes into his bin, mind wandering absently. He hadn’t heard from Alfred or Jason since he got back. Surely they knew he was back planet-side, right? Batman was still the League member in charge of the team. Kaldur would have had to report their success to him as soon as he could. And if Batman knew Nightwing was back, the others would have known. Jason was supposed to call him once he got back so they could meet up. Why hadn’t he called? Maybe Nightwing would call Jason instead. Yeah! As soon as he got off work, he would call his brother. Maybe they could get hot chocolate or something this weekend.

 

He was just about to turn and head to the kitchen when the TV happened to catch his eye. At first, he didn’t register what he was seeing. But nothing could change the headline he was reading on the local news station.

 

_Live at Wayne Funeral_.

 

The dish bin he’d been holding slipped from his grasp and crashed to the ground, sending a hush over the café. Not that he knew. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. No. It couldn’t be. There had to be another Wayne family, someone else who had lost someone. There was no way this was real.

 

A hand grasped his arm. Somehow, he managed to tear his eyes from the screen to see Amy Rohrbach, one of the waitresses, staring at him with wide eyes.

 

“Dick?” she said, voice soft. “What is it? What happened?”

 

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t speak because he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe because someone in his family was dead and he hadn’t been there to stop it.

 

What he could do was look back to the headline on the TV, which had changed. No. _No_. _No!_

 

_Jason Todd-Wayne Funeral_.

 

He heard quiet cursing as Amy started pulling him toward the back of the café, heard her snap at someone to clean up the mess. He didn’t register much else until he was sitting down in the backroom on a stack of old boxes someone hadn’t gotten around to recycling.

 

“Dick?” Amy’s tone was the same he used for skittish victims, artificially calm and even. “Can you hear me?”

 

He nodded. Something dripped onto his hand. Water. Where did it come from? His face felt wet. Was he crying? Now that he thought about it, his shoulders were shaking, his chest was heaving. He _was_ crying.

 

“Dick, please say something,” Amy pleaded.

 

“H-he can’t be dead,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “He _can’t_. We were su-supposed to meet up when I got back. We were gonna _talk_ and he was finally going to _understand_ and – and now we can’t because he’s _gone_.”

 

Amy made a sort of whimpering cooing sound as she pulled him in close, holding him as he shook. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Jason . . . _dead_. His little brother, Little Wing, gone. It didn’t make sense! Why wasn’t he told? Why had no one called him? Why did he have to find out from the news? Even if Bruce still hated him, still thought he was a danger and still thought he should never have rebelled, he should have _told_ him. Or Alfred? Why hadn’t Alfred called him? Was it because he wasn’t at the Manor enough? Did Alfred think he wouldn’t care? Of course he cared! His little brother was _dead!_

 

. . . how?

 

Nightwing tensed. How? _How_ did Jason die? Was it – was it his fault? Was that why no one had told him? Oh god, _was_ it his fault? Had he accidentally said something last time they spoke that led to this? Was not knowing until it was too late his punishment for getting Jason killed?

 

“Dick? I need you to breathe.” Amy’s voice was loud in his ear, jolting him from his thoughts. “Come on, breathe with me.” Even though he didn’t need to breathe, he forced himself to play along, to suck in air on a count of four, hold, release. Distantly, he recognized it as a technique for helping with panic attacks. Why did Amy know this?

 

“That’s better,” she said, worry still creasing her brows. “Can you talk, or do you want me to?”

 

He shook his head. “I-I don’t – I can’t – I. _Why?_ ” His breath caught in his throat. “Why didn’t anyone _tell_ me? I wasn’t – I’m not – I didn’t even _know_. They didn’t tell me! _No one told me my little brother died!_ ”

 

Sobs wracked his body as Amy pulled him even tighter into her arms, running a soothing hand through his hair and gently rocking back and forth.

 

He had no idea how long they sat there, him crying into her shoulder, her hugging him and whispering platitudes of how it’ll all be okay and he’ll get through this, even though it wasn’t okay and he would never get over the fact he had let someone he cared for die. But eventually someone knocked on the door, opening it slightly and telling Amy something Nightwing didn’t really hear. Amy nodded to the person, waiting until they left to nudge Nightwing into sitting up straight.

 

“Hey, did you hear that? We’ve got the rest of the day off,” she said, fake cheer in her voice. “Let me grab my things and I’ll drive you back to your place, okay?”

 

He nodded and let her pull him to his feet. He waited numbly as she rushed around, grabbing their coats and keys and any other belongings they had brought to work before leading him out to her car. Amy drove him back to his crummy apartment and frowned at the building.

 

“Is anyone else there?” she asked, brows furrowed in concern.

 

“No, there’s no one.”

 

“Do you want me to stay with you? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

 

He shook his head. “I’ll – I’ll call someone. A friend or something.”

 

“Okay, so long as you promise you’ll call me tomorrow. And Phillip said you have the rest of the week off, or longer if you need it.”

 

He gave her a weak smile. “Promise. Tell him thanks?”

 

Her answering smile was full of sad sympathy. “I will.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later, after Nightwing had hid in his apartment in the dark and failed to call anyone while he tried to keep himself from crying, something clicked in his mind. Bruce had to know what happened. There was no way the goddamn _Batman_ didn’t know what had killed Robin. If he knew, he could tell Nightwing. Nightwing could find out what had killed his Little Wing.

 

What if – what if it had been the last dredges of the Court? What if they had mistaken Jason for Nightwing and killed him? Oh god, what if _that’s_ why no one told him? What if they thought it was his fault? If it was his fault, he had to do something. Hunt down the few Court members who escaped and hid in the shadows like skittering rats, still trying to pull enough strings to reinstate their power over Gotham. If it had been the Court that killed Jason, there would be hell to pay.

 

With that thought in mind, Nightwing got up and flung himself out the window, secrecy be damned, and ran as fast as he could toward the nearest zeta tube. He was going to get his answers. He was going to find out the _truth_.

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce was in the Cave when Nightwing lunged through the zeta. Of course he was in the Cave. Where else would he have been? Upstairs in the manor? Actually mourning his son? Calling Nightwing and giving a damn that he had lost someone too? Why would he?

 

“You son of a bitch!” Nightwing snarled, launching himself at Bruce. He swung his fist at his face, putting every bit of force he had into the punch. But it never landed. The Order, the first one Bruce had ever given him, stood firm. He could not hurt Bruce.

 

Bruce actually flinched back from Nightwing’s aborted strike. If he had been just a bit calmer, a bit more levelheaded, he would have wondered why Bruce had recoiled, why he had thought Nightwing could actually hurt him.

 

“Why?!” he spat, still up in Bruce’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Bruce just stared at him, unblinking, blue eyes hollow and haunted. Not haunted enough. Not sorry enough. He would never be sorry enough.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me Jason died?!” he shouted. “You could have called me! Alfred knows my number. He knows where I live. Hell, I bet _you_ know where I live. It’s not like I keep it a secret. Send a damn carrier pigeon for all I care. I should have found out from you, not the news! I found out my little brother died because my boss likes to watch the news. How would you feel? Huh? How would you feel if someone decided you didn’t matter enough to tell you your little brother was dead?!”

 

Angry, hot tears streamed down his cheeks. His hands curled into fists at his sides. God, how could Bruce just – just _stand_ there, silent and unmoving as a statue? It was like he didn’t even care that Nightwing was breaking. Then again, why would he care? Nightwing wasn’t his son. Nightwing had been his weapon. Jason was his son, the one he took in because he wanted to, not because he had no other choice. But Jason was Nightwing’s _brother_ , his Little Wing. He taught him how to fly, lent him an ear when Bruce was being an ass, snuck cookies from the kitchen with him even though Alfred definitely knew and just overlooked it. They were brothers. And Bruce didn’t even bother to tell him he died!

 

“How – how did he die?” he said softly, voice trembling with barely contained rage.

 

“It was the Joker.” Bruce’s voice was flat, emotionless, like hearing a robot speak.

 

_Joker_. That worthless excuse for a clown, that piece of garbage so low he couldn’t even be considered human. A flame of hatred sparked in Nightwing’s chest. Joker was going to pay.

 

Unless . . . had Bruce . . . Would Bruce have killed him? Bruce did have his precious Rule, but was the death of his son worth breaking it? Surely it was. Surely Jason’s death meant more than his fear of becoming like the monsters he fought.

 

“Tell me,” Nightwing ground out. “Tell me he’s dead too. Tell me Jason’s killer isn’t alive and walking around. _Tell me you killed the Joker for what he did_.”

 

Bruce’s answer was clipped, detached and cold.

 

“We don’t kill.”

 

That spark of anger in Nightwing’s chest burst into a raging wildfire. “Jason died!” he roared. “My little brother, your _fucking son_ , is dead because of that monster! You don’t think that deserves breaking your precious Rule?”

 

“We do not kill,” he repeated, just as emotionless as before.

 

He clenched his teeth, nails digging into his palms so hard they broke the skin.

 

“ _I do_.”

 

He stormed out through the zeta before Bruce could say another word. He was going to avenge his brother, whether Bruce liked it or not. Orders be damned.

 

* * *

 

 

It took three days. Three days to find the Joker and lurer him out, bash him on the head, and drag him to a little abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. No one would be able to hear his screams. Not that anyone would care. Four days after that, after the chilling laughter had evolved into agonized screams had faded into bloody silence, the mangled stump of the Joker’s severed head was pinned to the side of the Bat Signal with a familiar-looking knife.

 

Nightwing vanished into the shadows as Gordon stepped out onto the roof. Even though there was a vice grip on his insides, almost doubling him over in pain he knew he would never be free from, he wore a smile. Jason’s death had been avenged. Just like he would have wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last scene was originally going to be an in-depth version of Nightwing torturing and then murdering the Joker, but I decided vague worked best. Oh! And his coworkers at the café are named after the characters who work with Dick in the Blüdhaven Police Department, according to the wiki page. I thought that would be neat. Thanks for reading!


End file.
